


Soft

by sophibug



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Break Up, F/M, Not Epilogue Compliant, Post-Break Up, Post-Canon, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-12-18 20:28:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11882202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophibug/pseuds/sophibug
Summary: Hermione looks back on the end of her relationship.





	Soft

Hermione laid on Luna’s couch, which she had transfigured into a bed. She stared at the unmoving shadows cast by the moon against the window shades. The hands on the clock that hung from the wall ticked past one. The bed felt wrong. It was too soft, the room too warm, her pillow not thick enough. And there was only room for one.

Her feelings… well, they had started months ago, hadn’t they? She and Ron had gotten a flat together just after the War ended. He had started a job in the Ministry organizing Quidditch matches; she had stayed at home with her stacks of textbooks and studied for her NEWTs. He spent many evenings at the bar with Dean and Harry, and those he didn’t he would read the newspaper or watch football on their Muggle television. She would sit in the living room, not facing the screen, and tell him what she had learned that day.

She loved him. He was soft and kind, quick with a compliment or a kiss. The last time she had been sick, he had brought home a huge bouquet of flowers along with chicken soup. He would hold her in the mornings as she woke up, kissing her neck or rubbing her back. She loved those moments, and would pretend to doze for longer to feel his touch.

Harry and Ginny had gotten married. He was doing some sort of private Defense tutoring while she worked as a Healer’s assistant. They’d gotten pregnant easily, and the announcement came barely three months after their wedding day. Ron had started talking about getting married and having kids. She had said she wanted to wait until she finished her NEWTs. Ginny was caught up in the life of a pregnant woman, and now as a mother of an infant. Hermione wondered if Ginny felt the distance that had grown between the two of them.

Luna had taken over her father’s newspaper, which had kept the reputation for honesty it had earned during the War. She had hired a few other witches that Hermione barely knew to write for it, and when Hermione saw her during their weekly coffee date her hands were covered in ink stains.

But Ron… She loved him. She really did. He was so tender and warm and… soft.

Why had it fallen apart?

She remembered tea with Luna, barely a week ago. She had been talking about Ron’s job, then talked with eyes alight about her research. She had made a complicated potion that day, and had failed, but through it she had learned so much about the interaction between oak leaves and garlic when kept on high heat. In fact, she hadn’t been able to find it in any of her books, and wondered if she ought to publish it. She had barely been able to hold in her excitement long enough for Luna to make tea.

Luna had poured herself another cup of tea, and had taken a long, thoughtful sip. “Have you told Ron about this?”

“Of course,” she had stuttered, confused. She remembered that conversation. He had returned home from work buzzing on news about their Junior Quidditch League, and she had shared with him her own exciting news. He had smiled, glad she was happy, but after her third time trying to dumb the information down to what he would understand she gave up. She had pushed aside her frustration; everyone had different gifts.

Luna had nodded. “I love Ron, you know,” she said, flatly. At my surprise, she had clarified. “Not like that, of course. But I love who he is.” She had set down her teacup. “However, I wouldn’t marry him.”

That night she had laid in an empty bed. Ron was away for the week, scouting out the location for this year’s Cup. She had turned to face the empty spot where he would have been lying, and cried.

“I love you, Ron. I really do. I love your loyalty and empathy and stubbornness and how easy-going you are.” Her words had choked her as she had continued, “but why am I crying if I love you? You want life to be easy. You don’t want it to be hard. You don’t get why I love my schoolwork, and you were willing to love me anyway but I don’t know if we can do this, Ron. We talk, but we don’t have conversations about things that we really care about. Honestly, I don’t care about Quidditch, and you don’t care about potions. And I’m not sure we have enough in common to keep pretending to care.” She had felt sick to her stomach. “I love you, Ron. I love who you are. But I don’t know if I can marry you.”

Hermione shifted in Luna’s living room, lying on her side. She bit her lip, wiped away the tears that had yet again come dripping down her face. She could see that afternoon so clearly, too clearly.

Ron had returned home, jubilant. Not only had they picked out a great place for the Cup, he had said, but it would be perfect for their wedding. Next summer, he was thinking, just over a year away, would be enough time for her to finish her test taking.

Hermione had only answered him with sobs, and had practically collapsed onto the couch. He had sat, and put his arm around her.

“What is it, ‘Mione? Why are you crying?”

“I- I love you,” she had sobbed. “I love you so much.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I love you li- like I love Harry, Ron. I can’t do this.”

“Can’t do what?” His arm still hung around her, but she felt him tense. She had wanted at the same time for him to get up and leave her alone and for him to take her onto his lap and hold her like a baby. She could feel his breaths against her side, slow and steady.

“You… You have all you want in life. You want to have a- a- a stupid job in the Sports department with a barely forty hour workweek and to drink with your mates and come home to a comfortable house.” The words had rushed out. “I can’t have that, Ron. I need a challenge, a push. Someone who hears me talk about grasshopper legs and knows what I’m talking about. I love you be- because you’re soft and warm, but I… I need edges, Ron, and you don’t have any edges.” She had barely understood what she was even saying. What was this nonsense about edges?

He had bitten his lip, gotten up, and slammed the door to their bedroom, all without speaking. She had buried her face in her hands and sobbed. When she had run out of tears, she mindlessly washed the dishes she had let pile up the Muggle way, her breath catching against her throat.

Ron had walked back into the living room. His face was red and swollen. He had sat down at one of the chairs that surrounding their table. He had been holding himself in, carefully. He had gotten better at controlling his temper, but she could see it pulsing against its restraints.

He had stayed there, still, and tried to pick out his words carefully. “I, I think I understand, Hermione. You want someone who can talk about all that stuff that just goes over my head, and I want someone to stay home like my mom did and have lots of kids.” His mouth had been a thin line, and she could hear the unspoken “and I thought it would be you.”

All she could do was wordlessly cry, her hands still covered in soapy water. He stared at anywhere but her. They had sat that way for a long time, too long.

“Why don’t--” He had stopped, breathing slowly, and Hermione could tell he was counting internally. “Why don’t I go to Dean’s and you go to Luna’s and we can deal with all this later.” It wasn’t really a question. He had looked up at her, lip quivering, and handed her a handkerchief; he was thoughtful even when he was mad.

She had nodded, and in a pinch of Floo powder she was gone. Luna had made her tea and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich that tasted like texture. She had read aloud from a fantasy novel until Hermione fell asleep on the couch.

Hermione had woken up hours later. Now, she was completely awake. She took a shuddering breath, willing her tears away. She had to be brave, now, because she was walking on solid ground.


End file.
